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Vivian hated coming to this place. The malodorous smell of artificial lavender and vanilla shampoos and the austere odor of burnt hair from the hot curling and straightening irons along with the loud chatter of her gossiping mother and other women made her toes curl in her shiny black Mary Janes.
And the very worst thing about it was that she could do nothing. There was absolutely nothing to keep her seven-year-old mind entertained.
Mrs. Ables, the stylist doing her mother's hair, allowed her to sweep the shop at one point, but it did not amuse Vivian for very long. She ended up on a waiting chair. Her mother would scold her if she saw her doing so.
She didn't like it if she were using a seat that could be occupied by someone who was actually waiting. But she liked to think she was waiting. Waiting for her mother to finish up so she can take her to get ice cream as she had promised.
Vivian was comfortably placed in the chair picking at her pantyhose because her dress had caused an itch. When she heard the door to the salon give a little jingle, she curiously peered over the chair in front of her to see if it were anyone she knew.
It wasn't. Defeated, she plopped back down and waited patiently for her mother to finish. After what felt like years, her beautiful mother stepped off the chair and paid the stylist. Her mother's freshly done hair never ceased to amaze Vivian.
The way her red hair twisted into right curls around her full cheeks and clear forehead.
"How do you like it dear?"
"I think you're even more beautiful than before!" Vivian told her with a smile.
"Oh, my sweet Vivian, you spoil me, dear."
"Where are we going now?"
"We are going to pick your sister up from her piano lessons." She scrunched up her little nose.
"I hate the piano."
"Well, you'll be starting lessons next week, my dear. A young lady should be talented as well as beautiful."
"Yes, ma'am," Vivian agreed as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk in the Bronx. Ladies walked alongside their gentlemen and spoke in hushed, polite tones.
Wednesday's were Vivian's favorite days. They were Catherine's piano lessons. That meant that he had the entire day to spend with only her mother. It's not that Vivian didn't like Catherine, it was just that Catherine was very mean. She always laughed at Vivian and hid her stuff. She was very irritable and angry. She was 12 now. She thinks that her age made her better than Vivian. And maybe it did. But she still liked it better when it was just her and her mother.
They entered a large white home that was joint with others. "Come with me, my dear," her mother said as she climbed the stairs, her t-strapped black leather heels clicking against the concrete. Vivian could only take one step at a time.
